


the ocean breathes salty; won't you carry it in?

by skeleton_twins



Category: Pacific Rim (Movies)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Anxiety, Beaches, Drift Side Effects, Ghost Drifting, Introspection, M/M, Mind Control Aftermath & Recovery, Post-Movie: Pacific Rim (2013), Post-Movie: Pacific Rim: Uprising (2018), Pre-Movie: Pacific Rim: Uprising (2018), Recovery, That's it, but it's just angst and hey look there's an ocean in the background, it's angsty folks, just a hint of alien possession, just a lot of newt's internal thoughts because i don't know how to write anything else, or at the very least a hopeful one, supposed to be a cute beach fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-14
Updated: 2018-08-14
Packaged: 2019-06-16 05:38:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,693
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15430164
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/skeleton_twins/pseuds/skeleton_twins
Summary: With swirling thoughts from monsters ringing in his head, Newton searches for answers along the shore.Or the angsty beach fic that no one asked for.





	the ocean breathes salty; won't you carry it in?

**Author's Note:**

> And maybe we'll get lucky and we'll both grow old.  
> Well, I don't know. I hope so.

The ocean beckons him.

A call Newton can’t quite ignore, a longing that aches deep inside him, a longing that isn’t his own. He doesn’t know who it belongs to. He doesn’t know his own mind these days. His brain entangled with numbers and monsters deep below the sea. A constant blue haze curling around the corners of his mind. 

He follows, despite the cranky voice in the back of his head telling him not to, because he has never been the one to ignore flirting with temptation, even if it leads him straight to trouble, guides him into danger. 

_“This is_ not  _a good idea.”_

Newt smiles at the niggling forewarning his mind provides. It sounds awfully like Hermann.

The breeze picks up as his boots hit each creaky step, descending down the short staircase that leads towards the shore. There’s a bite to the air, a hint of chill that makes him shiver, reminding him of all the torn holes in his leather jacket. Sand caves, giving way under the weight of his boots, seeping in through the cracks. The taste of salt is strong on his tongue, breathing in the ocean air like he depended on it.

Standing in front of the ocean doesn’t soothe the ache like Newton hoped it would. It doesn’t satisfy the longing, doesn’t scratch the itch under his skin. It just leaves him directionless. A fish stranded on land. _He just wants to go home._

He's homesick for a place he's never been, somewhere that doesn't _exist_ on this planet. Somewhere far, far away beneath the ocean bed. 

Newton knows these are not his feelings, not his emotions, he's not homesick. He's relieved that the war is finally over, or he should be, but his brain had been disassembled and create anew, different than how his brain used to be assembled. Too many signals were getting crossed. The wail of monsters drowns out his own emotions.

The noise is deafening, rattling through his skull. A thousand creatures sobbing because they're lost. It reminds him of the sounds of the past, before the sea life been eradicated and destroyed by radiation. A haunting whale song echoing beneath the water's surface, a mournful melody that he'll never be able to forget. His eyes sting with unshed tears, Newton blames the wind. 

Newton pats the pockets of his leather jacket, searching for a distraction, an anchor, a small cigarette box he always keeps in his jacket. It's not until a minute later when his fingers hit nothing but empty air that Newton remembers that he doesn't smoke. His bones ache in a way that's unfamiliar too, a faint twinge of pain in one leg more than the other. 

"Newton." 

This time the cranky voice isn't just in his head, although it doesn't sound like the crotchety mathematician at all, not anything like Newton was used to. The soft utterance of his name, a whisper carried through the wind. Quiet.

Newton peeks over his shoulder, steals just a glance. Hermann wearing different clothes than last night, unlike Newt who hadn't bother to change at all. He was too exhausted to go through the motions. Sleep was a fruitless endeavor. Any time he closed his eyes, his dreams consist of the world doused in shades of cerulean, burning everything in its path. He had been stricken with fear once he had woken, but during the night terror, he remained calm, as if his hands were the one lighting the match, the world's downfall was _his_ doing. 

He doesn't ask how Hermann knew where he was, how Hermann found him. There's no need. Newton already knew the answer. He felt it the second he woke up this morning, the day everyone longed for, hoped for, the morning after they saved the world, the tomorrow that was promised to them. The sharp awareness of Hermann's presence lingering inside his head. He could yield to it, follow it like a hastily drawn map, and Newton knew he could find Hermann in his own quarters, slumbering away peacefully. The first real night's sleep they both got in _years_.

Newton also doesn't ask the question burning on his tongue. _Hermann, can you hear it too? Why are the kaiju still crying? Why can I still hear it? What does it mean? Are they gone? Are they coming back?_

The questions die before he gets a chance to open his mouth, his tongue feels heavy, sticking to the roof of his mouth. Something shifts within him, a switch turning off the internal alarm ringing out. An abrupt composure that changes his mind entirely, Newton decides not to ask at all. It's probably a bad idea anyway, he reasons, he doesn't want Hermann to worry about him. They had just saved the world after all. They deserve a break.

Ten years later he regrets it. That was always the moment Newt could trace back as far as his memories allowed him, as the beginning of the end, the last real chance he had to speak, to be heard without his wrists being strung up in the precursors' grip, their puppet, their _plaything._ Before he lost full control of his voice.

He wonders how different it could've been had he just spoken up and shared his troubles with Hermann. A trip to medical bay would've been immediate, Hermann would've dragged him there himself. Maybe they would have found the lesion, the malignant blue tumor pressing against his brain, the precursors' influence. Maybe they would've spotted it, maybe they could have removed it before it spread. Maybe. 

Those ten years would've been different too. He wouldn't have left for Shao Industries. He would've stayed behind with Hermann and together, like it always has been and always will be, grown old with him.

Ten years later the beach is more crowded now that the kaiju are gone permanently. People aren't afraid like they used to be. It's pleasant in a way, seeing all the smiling faces, hearing the laughter of children splashing each other in the water. Families in the midst of making memories. The sand's warm, almost burning against the soles of his feet, but he buries them deeper. It's overwhelming. The sensations of _everything_. The heat of the sand and the sun kissing his bare arms and legs. The sounds of families in the water, the hums of conversations from the crowds too far away to actually make out any words, squawks of flying seagulls passing over his head. It's the most he's felt in ten years. The precursors left him numb, paralyzed to feel nothing other than the high from drifting as if his senses were locked on a dial set to zero, but now everything's set to ten, set on fire and burning. It leaves his hands trembling.

Newton stares straight ahead into the endless blue, his gaze locked on the invisible line, the blurry horizon. He breathes in, inhaling the ocean air, dragging it out until it aches, until his lungs are over capacity. He exhales at the last second, releasing all the air in a single whoosh. He continues the pattern, trying to avoid hyperventilating. He's better ten years later, but the next ten years (and the next ten years after that) are going to be enduring according to his therapist and Hermann. He's anxious in public spaces. Crowds. He's afraid, the fear of hurting someone still ever present, even though the precursors are gone. It's hard to forget about the last time he was in public, he destroyed a city and a child's life. He almost destroyed the world, lit the match from his nightmares, set the world on fire, leaving nothing and no one behind other than falling blue ashes.

Memories haunt him. The noises of the world ending by his hands echo in his ears, smothering the present background. It's like he's back there on that rooftop. Listening to the helpless cries. Crushing metal being warped and bent. Shattering glass windows. Car alarms blaring. All because of him, because of what he created. Newton squeezes his eyes shut. _They're gone. They're gone. They're gone._ He recites the words like a mantra, like a spinning vinyl with its needle skipping and repeating the words over and over again in his head. _I'm not going to hurt anyone. Not anymore._

A presence nudges the back of his skull, it's not invasive, doesn't leave his skin crawling, prickling with goosebumps. It descends slowly, like his favorite blanket being wrapped around his shoulders, like a quick kiss on a wound, soothing all the aches and bruises momentarily. It's not suffocating, doesn't curl around his throat with a tight grip pressing until everything inside him vanishes, replaced with nothing at all, until he's entirely vacant.

The anxiety stays, it always does, but it eases into something more manageable when Newt feels that particular presence around. He's able to breathe again. 

Newton twists his head expectantly, his eyes searching and despite the crowd, he finds what he's seeking, landing almost instantly on the lone figure approaching him. He follows the length of Hermann's cane. The awkward gait from walking on sand. His eyes travel to the knobbly knees peeking from under cuffed shorts upwards until he's meeting crinkly big brown eyes. Warmth crashes over him as if he flew too close to the sun. Only this time, his wings stayed intact. He smiles and for the first time in ten years, it's a genuine one. The kind that leaves his face aching afterward.

"Hermann." Newt holds out his hand for Hermann. It's a reflection from ten years ago as they stand together on the shore. Feet planted in the sand as the world spins on once more, another victory, another apocalypse averted. 

This time Hermann takes Newton's hand in his. This time there's no pull tugging Newton away from Hermann, nothing poisoning his thoughts. It's a second chance Newton's not convinced he deserves, another shot at happiness with the man he loves. With their hands entwined, they look onwards towards the ocean, their lungs breathing in the salty mist, prepared to face the next ten years together.

**Author's Note:**

> title from the song ocean breathes salty by modest mouse.


End file.
